¹ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 ━━ 𝐝. 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

v. bittersweet oblivion

✧˖° 🌑 ೄྀ࿐
━ [   SONG OF SORROWS   ] ༉‧₊˚✧
x. act one... the dragon's daughter
bittersweet oblivion ━ ✩・*。

— 112 A.C
DRAGONSTONE

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     THERE was something so freeing about being in flight. Ferocious winds catching one's hair, drawing their skin taut against their face, the cold atmosphere a blanket against the heat of the sun. In the skies, there was no discourse, no expectations, not like there was on land. An open, endless expanse of peace, milky white clouds the only companion other than a few, stray birds.

    Suffice to say, the skies were the only place Valerys could enjoy short-lived liberation. Thinking back to the days of old, she praised whatever dragonlord had first come to tame the scaly, often ornery beasts.

    It was hard to say how she came in this position, flying to Dragonstone. After assaulting her father, sobbing in a humiliating heap on the floor, she fled the room, seeking solace in the only other being who truly understood her, in a way even her own family could not. Aegarax was, in simple terms, a slice of her own soul, welded into his thick, silver scales. He had a rider before her, in a time long forgotten by history, but it was her will he bowed to, her emotions he felt as his own, her love he thrived under.

    The Silver Serpent, they called him, for the scales that wound his entire, enormous body. For his nearly two-hundred years of life, it seemed that he only grew more willful, the spark of fire in his large belly never dwindling, never dulling. A serpent was a poor choice at describing the grand beast; he was strapping with muscle that shifted with each movement under his skin, bat-like weeks spanning towns, shadowing them in darkness. From nose to chin the height was greater than she, and her father, who stood many inches her superior. Incisors, long as bastard swords, showed from his mouth, some old and cracking, and some forever stained with blood.

    They spoke of him in fearful whispers, never naming him, never forgetful of the destruction he wrought upon Westeros during the Conquering. Claimed first by Gaemon Targaryen, long before her forefather, Aegon the First ever considered himself a king. He was the only riderless dragon to partake in the Conquest, and his part was not forgotten, especially to those who looked upon his behemoth body sailing overhead.

    Despite his bloody and spirited past, Valerys found comfort within him, the trust she placed within the beast a questionable choice. To Valerys, he was her freedom, her escape from all that aimed to hold her to the ground.

    From under her, Aegarax gave a grumble, the noise reverberating in his throat. "I know," sighed Valerys, patting his neck with a gentle hand. "We'll be arriving home soon."

    Home. It was partially a lie, but to Valerys, King's Landing was never her home. Her true home lay within the people she loved, those she called family, and now, a piece of that home had crumbled off, swept away into the unforgiving currents of the sea. Her throat burned, thorns pricking into the tender skin each time she heaved a breath. No tears fell, she had run out of them long ago.

    Eventually, after what felt to be hours atop Aegarax, the island of Dragonstone came into view. It was a fortress of a castle, with sharp, narrow peaks and sooty bricks that made up the entirety of it. Sea salt wrinkled Valerys' nose, piercing her lungs with so much force that she exhaled sharply. It had been many moons since she'd laid eyes on her ancestral home, a lonely isle shrouded with fog, but it felt far too long to bare. Often times, she wished to flee to Dragonstone and never return, exonerated of all her duties and obligations, free to live her life as she pleased, see the world as she once promised herself she would.